


Live On, Don't Forget

by randomwriter57



Series: Sormik Week 2018 [2]
Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Implied Relationships, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-27 01:25:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15675228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomwriter57/pseuds/randomwriter57
Summary: From the beginning, Sorey was always going to die before him. He just never expected him to leave so soon.





	Live On, Don't Forget

**Author's Note:**

> you know when you finish the game for the fifth time and all you can think about is epileo angst? yeah.  
> (also this has nothing to do with snow and is only vaguely related to the other prompts oops)  
> enjoy!
> 
> Written for [Sormik Week 2018](http://sormikweek.tumblr.com), day two: Loneliness/Community (Snow)

It hurts more than he expects it to.

Even before Sorey confessed his plan to dwell in slumber as Maotelus’ vessel, Mikleo knew they would part one day. In Elysia, he barely considered it, too wrapped up in the childish affairs of adventure and exploration. Back then, he hardly noticed how Sorey was different from him.

But as the dangers around them increased, throwing his efforts into self-improvement was all he could do to wash out the thought that constantly crossed his mind otherwise: _‘When Sorey dies, what will I do?’_

Because from the beginning, Sorey was always going to die before him.

He just never expected him to leave so soon.

Sorey isn’t dead. That’s his only saving grace, whenever his mind strays into dangerous territory. One day, Sorey will wake up, and they’ll be together again.

He tries not to think about how far away that day is.

 

* * *

 

After Sorey leaves, Mikleo crashes. He doesn’t think it’s due to grief, though that certainly contributes to his emotional exhaustion. The fact of the matter, though, is that they’ve spent the past - lord, he’s lost track, how long has it been? - fighting constant battles in thicker and thicker malevolence until he practically choked, unable to breathe without the life support provided by Sorey’s domain. They proceeded to turn their own life forces into living attacks, using every last ounce of energy in their beings to defeat the greatest source of malevolence in the world. Taking that into account, it’s no wonder he’s exhausted.

Now he kneels at the edge of a giant crater. What was once a majestic temple, then a shrine of chaos, is now only a ruin of rubble. Around him stand his friends, sans the only one he’s been with all his life.

He doesn’t know how to feel. He doesn’t have the energy to feel, right now.

It’s only when a pair of red-clad arms wrap around him, pulling him into a tight embrace, that he realises he’s crying.

Scrunching his eyes shut, he buries his face in Lailah’s shoulder. For once, he doesn’t care that the others can see him like this. Right now, he only feels the burning hole in his heart and the empty space at his right hand side.

The last of his energy saps out of him, and the world goes dark.

 

* * *

 

His seraph companions let him have the time he needs to recover. In Elysia, they give him space, staying only to rest up after the battle. When they part, it is with the promise to meet again, in Ladylake.

Mikleo spends the next days surrounded by the comfort of a grieving family. Together they pay their respects to two family members: the human who changed their lives more than anyone, and the lost lightning seraph, whose death still wakes Mikleo up on the rare occasions where he finds sleep, tears running down his cheeks and a childish plea on his tongue.

These days are for reminiscing, for paying tribute to their sacrifices. They are for cleaning up the damage remaining from Bartlow’s attack, for fixing the broken buildings and setting up a new blessing to cover Elysia’s domain.

Mikleo offers to clean up Sorey’s house. Part of him wishes he hadn’t, especially when he sees the damage done to it by the humans. All of the memories he shares with Sorey from their childhood are here, lying in pieces on the ground. Antique pots and vases, stone slabs with interesting markings, and in some cases, items they found in the ruins with no real historical relevance at all. A tiny, broken laugh escapes his throat when he remembers Sorey picking up a chipped coin, his eyes shining with excitement.

 _“Look at this!”_ he’d said. _“Where do you think it came from? Who do you think dropped it?”_

He manages to pack away their memories into a few neat boxes, two of which are taken up only by broken pieces which he can’t bring himself to throw away. It’s only after working for those days without rest, cleaning every piece of dirt and dust that has built up around the house, that he collapses onto Sorey’s bed.

The scent of musky trees and sweet herbs fills his consciousness.

When he wakes up, the pillow is stained with tears.

Once the village returns to its previous state, though, Mikleo feels different. Detached. Though he is at home here, with his family around to support him, he finds himself craving the outside world. He wants to hear the countless voices crowding the cities, to feel the excitement of finding a new discovery, to taste human food in a warm inn with his companions.

He wants to travel.

This time, when he leaves Elysia, it’s not in the dead of the night. He says his goodbyes properly this time, promising to stay safe, to write letters and visit regularly.

Then, with Sorey’s light at his back, he departs for the world below once more.

 

* * *

 

When Mikleo makes his way to Ladylake on a path which leaves a lump of familiarity in his throat, his friends meet him there with open arms.

Lailah pulls him into a hug once more, the same sense of maternal comfort filling his chest as had done when they materialised in Camlann. This time, he does not cry. Rather, he hugs her back tightly, offering her the empathy she has shown him.

Once they part, Zaveid claps him on the shoulder, tries to keep his spirits up through remarks about finding time to bond. He offers to take Mikleo drinking, which Mikleo refuses, but it sparks a teasing debate on how long he’d last until he became black-out drunk. If anything puts him off, it’s that.

Beneath the joking exterior, though, Mikleo can tell Zaveid is trying his best, and he is grateful for it. Not that he’ll ever say that to his face, of course.

Even Edna’s teasing, though lighter than usual, feels comforting in its familiarity. She doesn’t bring up Sorey, instead teasing him for other insignificant aspects of himself which he can’t help but be riled up by. When he bites back, it distracts him. It’s temporary, but it’s a relief all the same.

Only when they head to the inn does he see Rose, sitting cross-legged on a bed, sharpening her knives. When she sees him, her grin is as bright as always, which tells him how much she’s hiding behind it.

“Hey,” she greets him, putting down her tools and holding out a hand. “Be my sub lord?”

Just because it’s Rose - because he can hear the strength of her voice, can see the intention in her eyes, trusts her well enough from months of travelling together-

Because it’s Rose, he accepts.

 

* * *

 

In the first month, Mikleo falls back on what he’s always done: he throws himself into work.

Researching seals, finding new ways to protect Camlann, making sure Sorey stays safe during his sleep - these are the thoughts which he entertains the most. He dwells in Rose’s consciousness at night, staring up at the metaphorical black ceiling provided by her sleeping body, and his mind races. He can’t sleep for thoughts of, ‘What else can I do to protect him?’

(Not that he needs sleep, and truth be told he’s always found it difficult without Sorey’s warmth at his side.)

It’s during a late-night study session in their room at the inn that Rose asks him if she can borrow The Celestial Record.

He looks up from the library-loaned book he’s been reading in the moonlight, surprised to find Rose awake but more so to hear this request. Taking the book out of the pouch he’s taken to storing it in, he feels a pang in his chest.

“I thought you hated things like this?” he says, offering it to her.

Rose shrugs, though she takes the book carefully, trying not to damage it. “If I’m gonna be a Shepherd, I feel like I should at least give it a shot, don’t you think?”

“It’s your choice,” Mikleo says, turning back to the book in front of him. “It’s not like every Shepherd had a book like this to guide them.”

In a low voice, Rose answers, “The important one did.”

For a moment, Mikleo considers that this might be Rose’s way of honouring Sorey. With him being Maotelus’ vessel, there’s no telling how long he’ll be asleep for. By the time he awakens, Rose will almost certainly be gone.

This is the last thing they have of Sorey, except for his light.

 

* * *

 

From that night, Mikleo and Rose spend a lot of time reading together.

Whenever they’re not cleaning up leftover hellions or sealing hidden passages, the two youngest members of the group sit in a rare state of silence, heads buried in books. For Mikleo, the cover changes but the subject matter never falters; he gets through five volumes on seals before Rose gets halfway through The Celestial Record.

One night, when they’re relaxing at their makeshift campsite in Lakehaven Heights, Rose lets her head hit the tree she’s leaning against with a groan. The campfire in front of her flickers, spreading lines of orange across her skin.

“This book is so boring,” she complains. “I don’t know how you guys are so into this kind of thing.”

“It’s interesting,” Mikleo says, barely lifting his eyes from his own page. “Well, to us at least.”

“I can tell,” Rose says. “You’ve written all over the damn thing! Not that I can make out half of your scribbles, they don’t even look like real words.”

Mikleo glances over at the page she has open. She’s on a spread describing the leaning towers, one which is covered in shoddily-drawn symbols. He has to fight to stop his lips curling upward at the sight.

“It’s the Ancient Tongue,” Mikleo explains. “Sometimes Sorey would practice writing it in the book to help us learn what the symbols meant. We stopped when we became fluent, though.”

Rose trails her fingers over the symbols. For a moment, she bites her lip, thinking over something before she says, “Can you teach me a little?”

“You want to learn the Ancient Tongue?” To Mikleo, this is more surprising even than her wanting to read the book. He’d never have pegged Rose for wanting to learn a language, especially not one as complex as this.

She scratches the back of her head. “I want to know what these annotations say, at least. And I kinda need to know what to say if I ever get a Squire, don’t I?”

“That’s true,” Mikleo says. “Alright, I’ll try my best.”

They spend that evening going through Sorey’s annotations, with Mikleo translating them and helping Rose to understand them better. Part of him forgets Sorey isn’t physically here with them, reading his words. Every word he chose to write down here seems to capture his essence, preserving it in these pages.

Only once the others go to bed and the light of the fire burns low do they reach the end-paper. Mikleo’s mouth goes slack, seeing symbols he’s never noticed in the back of the book.

“Mikleo?” Rose says when he doesn’t say anything. “Is something wrong?”

He can’t bring himself to speak those words.

Written in Sorey’s handwriting, printed with more care than anything else in the book, are the words:  _Luzrov Rulay. My one and only._

 

* * *

 

Not long after that, their party splits up.

The girls head to the west, ready to check on Marlind and Rolance whilst Mikleo and Zaveid stay behind, working to finish sealing up Camlann.

At first, Mikleo dreads it. He hasn’t spent much time alone with Zaveid, but knowing what he’s like with the others around, he’s not sure this will be any better. He doesn’t particularly want a repeat of the sauna incident. Or the swimsuit incident. Or the ‘winds of love’ incident either, for that matter.

But Zaveid is surprisingly considerate. Though he jokes around as usual, he’s serious about their work, and they get through it without much trouble. Zaveid does try to chat up a few of the Elysian seraphim when they’re there, of course, but none of them fall for his words.

One night, after a gruelling day of sealing, Mikleo heads out to the overhang outside of Elysia. He remembers this outlook fondly from memories both old and recent. Countless nights, he sat here with Sorey, watching the stars, dreaming of faraway lands they knew only from books and their imaginations. Not to mention that one day, near the time of their final battle, when once more he found his feelings trapped on his tongue.

Now the view has changed. A bright shoot of white stretches through the stars, reaching all the way up and down, embracing the world.

If he wants, Mikleo could fool himself into feeling like Sorey is here, beside him. In a way, he is here. Asleep though he is, Sorey is one with Maotelus right now, which means he is one with the earth itself. Somehow, Mikleo feels like if he says something now, his words will reach Sorey, no matter how far away his body rests.

A breeze brushes against his skin. His words join it in a single breath.

“I love you.”

“Flattering, but I’m way too old and straight for you, Mik-boy.”

Mikleo jolts as Zaveid flops to sit on the grass beside him. He tries to ignore how his cheeks burn in embarrassment. “I- I wasn’t talking to you-”

“Settle down, I’m just teasing you,” Zaveid laughs, patting his back. “Like I said, the wind carries all sorts of messages. I didn’t expect you to take me seriously when I told you that, though.”

“What do you want?” Mikleo says, glaring at the wind seraph.

Zaveid’s laughter dies down, and he looks out onto the skyline, lips pressed in a line. “I lost someone important to me, too. A long time ago.”

This catches Mikleo’s attention.

“Her name was Theodora,” Zaveid clarifies. “Amazing woman. Lively, upbeat… We were happy together.”

A stupid, inappropriate part of Mikleo wants to poke fun at how Zaveid managed to hold onto a lover at some point, but he stops himself.

Instead he asks, “What happened?”

Zaveid lets out a mirthless laugh. “What do you think? She became a dragon.”

Mikleo doesn’t need to ask how the story ends.

“The problem I had was that I didn’t want to believe it,” he continues. His hair rustles in the breeze, drifting around his shoulders, freer apparently even than Zaveid himself. “I convinced myself she was herself, right until the end. If Eizen hadn’t killed her, I might have ended up the same way.”

When Mikleo doesn’t respond, Zaveid turns to face him, eyes burning with a seriousness he hasn’t seen in a long time.

“Sorey’s not dead,” Zaveid says. “And he’ll come back someday. But you can’t just hang on to your memories of him. Time changes everyone. It’s not something you can resist.”

Those words strike his core deeply. It’s something he’s told himself before but never wanted to admit, a fear which curdles in his throat, forced down by will alone.

But Zaveid is right.

In a broken breath, Mikleo whispers, “I know.”

A large hand pats his back, and they exchange no more words. Only the wind whispers their shared sorrow into the night sky.

 

* * *

 

The issue with having a problem is that identifying it is the easy part.

Mikleo shouldn’t be this hung up on Sorey. He’s been trying so hard to keep busy, to drown out the loudness of an empty space, to keep his mouth shut when all he wants to do is turn to his right and find someone listening to him.

He made a silent vow, that night in Lastonbell. When Sorey told him his dream would live on, Mikleo promised himself that he would, too. He’d move on without regrets, without staying stuck in the past. Because he knows Sorey would not want him to live like this.

But it’s hard. Naturally so, given that it’s only been a few months, and he’s lived alongside Sorey for eighteen years. To think of the amount of centuries looming before him would make him waver all the more.

Mikleo has always been stubborn, though. He can’t let himself be held back by regrets, or loneliness.

Sorey will return. Until then, Mikleo needs to live life enough for both of them.

After all, they haven’t achieved their dream yet. There’s still work to do.

 

* * *

 

When they return from Camlann, Mikleo cuts his hair.

He hasn’t done it for a while, since even when he and Sorey journeyed together they never got the chance to sit down and maintain their appearances. Mikleo only ever bothers with his own when Sorey needs it done. To cut his hair alone feels almost sacrilegious.

But he needs to move forward. Zaveid’s words have lingered in his mind, urging him to take up the scissors. As he stands before the mirror, eyeing up how his fringe brushes lower over his eyes than it should, he knows he needs to cut himself off from this slump. Not that he’s slumping right now - it takes a lot of concentration to make his reflection show up at all.

He raises the scissors to surround a few strands of his fringe.

“Mikleo? What are you doing?”

It happens all at once: the scissors close with a metallic finality, a clump of his fringe falling onto the vanity table. His reflection fizzles out of sight, and Rose shrieks.

“Calm down!” Mikleo says, watching her jump away, putting her arms over her face in self-protection.

Rose glares at him, lowering her arms. “Don’t do that!” she yells.

“I didn’t mean to! You’re the one who made me lose concentration.”

Reaching up to his fringe, he surveys the damage. It doesn’t feel too much shorter than when he’d usually cut it. He can probably salvage it without too much trouble.

(It’s certainly nowhere near as bad as The Incident. For once, he actually feels glad Sorey isn’t here to laugh at him for this.

A lump of guilt forms in his throat, and he stops thinking about that.)

“Are you cutting your hair?” Rose asks, eyeing up the hair on the table. “You any good?”

“Usually, yes,” Mikleo says. “When people aren’t shrieking around me, anyway.”

Rose ignores his prod, instead asking, “Would you mind cutting mine for me when you’re done? It’s getting too long, it’s a real pain in battle.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks!”

She heads out of the room, leaving Mikleo alone once more.

He stares at the empty mirror and lets out a long sigh. Time to try again, he supposes.

 

* * *

 

From that day on, whenever Mikleo cuts his hair, he trims Rose’s hair as well. If Alisha is with them, he’ll offer his services to her, something which she declines at first, too modest to accept such treatment from the seraphim she is supposed to worship devoutly. He soon convinces her that there’s no reason she should treat him any differently than her human friends, though, and she allows him to cut her hair too.

(He can’t help but roll his eyes when he remembers the true name Rose gave to Alisha. If Rose remembered anything of the Ancient Tongue Mikleo taught her, of course it was that.)

Edna jokes about him becoming a hairdresser for Shepherds and their companions, which irks him for a while. It’s not like he chose this for himself. But the irony comes when Edna plops down on the chair in front of him one day after Rose vacates it.

“Don’t mess it up,” she tells him, laying her umbrella across her lap as a warning.

As he trims away the split ends from her hair, Edna mostly stays silent. It’s different from when he cuts Rose’s hair - being talkative by nature means she never has nothing to say. Even Alisha makes polite conversation, and it’s a far cry from when he used to cut Sorey’s hair. That doesn’t make it unpleasant, though. The silence between them is surprisingly amiable.

“Did you cut your own hair, on Rayfalke?” he asks one day.

Edna takes a moment to respond. “Sometimes, yeah. My brother did it for me, before he left. After that I did it myself.”

“Oh, I see.”

A couple of questions float around Mikleo’s mind. He wants to ask her about Eizen, and more specifically about her life without him, before he became a dragon. He holds his words back, though. Now is not the time to ask them.

Some day, though, he’ll ask, but he needs to give it some time first.

 

* * *

 

“You’re not telling anyone?”

Mikleo looks up from the book he’s reading. They’re in Marlind’s inn, where nearby there was a resilient hellion causing havoc which they’ve since managed to subdue. Now, Rose sits cross-legged in front of the fireplace, shrugging at Alisha’s question.

“Don’t see a need to,” Rose says. She puts down The Celestial Record, keeping note of the page even though she hasn’t turned it in at least half an hour. “It’ll only cause trouble if people go looking for him, right? As long as they know the world’s at peace, there’s no need to make Sorey’s actions a public affair.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Alisha says, though she sounds uncertain. “It’s a shame, though. No one will ever know of his valiance, of the sacrifice he made for our world.”

“Sure they will,” Rose says easily. “Mikleo’s gonna write a history book or two about it. It just might not come out for a hundred years or so.”

Mikleo gives her an unimpressed look. “I don’t think it will fill two whole volumes, Rose.”

“Sure it will! You’ll be dedicating a whole volume to me, won’t you?” she says with a grin.

“In any case,” Alisha says, “as disappointed as I am that I won’t be able to read Mikleo’s book, I’m glad I lived to witness the events of it happening.”

Mikleo looks down at his lap, subdued. Alisha, just like Rose, is human. It’s something which plagued him with Sorey, and which has began to bother him with the girls, too. They will die, some day. There’s no self-sacrifice for them to make to extend their lifespan. They’ll live as normal humans do, with lives shorter than Mikleo can imagine.

Rose, perhaps sensing Mikleo's thoughts, says, “Yeah. Who cares about being able to read about what happened way back when. It’s better to be able to say you were there when those things happened.”

Alisha smiles. “You’re right. I’ll be forever grateful that I had the chance to journey with two Shepherds, both working their hardest to bring this world to peace.”

“Hey, you talk like you didn’t help at all! People will be talking about you for centuries.”

“Y-you really think so? I’m not sure...”

Mikleo turns his gaze back to his book, though his mind stays locked on their conversation.

Well, so long as Rose and Alisha have no regrets, it’s all he can do to support them until the very end.

 

* * *

 

One day, years later, Mikleo cuts Rose's hair.

The world is far more peaceful than it had been in their youth, thanks to the hard work of Alisha and Sergei, who kept their countries sane after Sorey made his sacrifice. The air feels purer, nowadays, and it’s rare to find places filled with as much malevolence as the cities used to be.

But there’s still work to do. Mikleo knows in his heart that there’s a long wait ahead of him before the land is wholly purified. At this point, it’s something he’s accepted. All he can do is wait and work his hardest to achieve their dream in the meantime.

Rose is, surprisingly, still the Shepherd. Not that there’s nearly as much work to do as Shepherd now as there once was, but so long as humans produce malevolence, hellions will continue to exist. Whilst Alisha and Sergei work on the roots of the problem, Rose nips the buds of malevolence before they can spread like weeds.

He cards his fingers through strands of vibrant red, which is only a bit longer than it once was, and kept out of the way more often than not. As he lifts his scissors, though, he notices something shining.

“Something wrong?” Rose asks when he hesitates.

“No, nothing,” he responds.

When his scissors wrap around those strands of hair, they take a strand of silver along with them.

 

* * *

 

Rose only takes on one other Squire in her lifetime.

His name is Tristan. He’s idealistic, that’s for sure. His short, dark hair frames eyes filled with curiosity, ones which search for answers about the wonders of the world. In a sense, he reminds Mikleo of Sorey, though there are more differences than similarities between them. Other than looking nothing alike, his demeanour is more sceptical than sincere. He is genuine in his hopes to follow in the footsteps of his predecessors, though, learning more about the world as he helps to keep it safe.

Though Rose isn’t one for teaching, she manages to show Tristan the ins and outs of being a Shepherd. He soon handles the power of purification without Lailah’s guidance, and eventually he starts taking charge in their battles, allowing Rose time to relax after long days of work.

With his rapid development, it doesn’t surprise Mikleo when Rose announces to the seraphim a year after his becoming her Squire that she’ll be retiring.

“He’s happy to step up as the Shepherd,” she tells them, and the confidence in her gaze makes Mikleo believe her all the more.

Still, with this change comes an abundance of decisions to be made. Tristan has worked hard as the Squire, but he hasn’t gained the power of armatization just yet. Not only that, but Mikleo isn’t sure he wants to continue on this journey as a sub lord. He enjoys travelling more than anything, and being with his friends has given him years of happy memories. But he’s ready to move on, now. There’s more to his dream than purifying hellions, and helping the Shepherds on a journey which has turned into routine hellion clean-up duty will get him nowhere.

When he tells this to Lailah, however, she wears an understanding expression.

“To be entirely honest,” she tells him, “I’m planning on stepping down as Prime Lord, as well.”

“Wait, really?” Mikleo says. “You can do that?”

Lailah nods. “Of course! Even Prime Lords need vacations, right? Besides, I know the perfect candidate to take over for me.”

Mikleo doesn’t know why he expects an explanation, anymore.

In any case, the decision is quickly made: Tristan will soon succeed Rose as the Shepherd, with the seraph Uno taking over as Prime Lord. Lailah will step down and become the Lord of the Land for Ladylake in his place, leaving the other seraphim to do as they please. After all, with the lack of hellions roaming these days, there certainly isn’t the need for a full party of seraphim anymore. It’s time for this Shepherd to make his own journey, where he will find his own companions.

When Rose passes the mantle on to Tristan, and Mikleo hands over the Divine Artifact to Uno, he can only wish them the best of luck.

 

* * *

 

 

The last conversation he has with Rose is in a clearing in the Volgran Forest.

She lives in a small town now, known far and wide as a trading outpost for merchants. When she said she’d be retiring, Mikleo should really have guessed she’d continue working in some form; there’s no way she’d give up both her trades as a fighter and a merchant. At least being a merchant is the less dangerous of the two.

With a world spread in front of him, ready to be explored, even now he can’t help returning to visit her every now and then. It would feel strange, not to see her for months on end. And, well, he feels like he’s grown up with Rose, in a way. They’ve known each other since they were both young, after all, and it has been - what, fifty years since they met? He needs to keep better track.

Rose pulls out The Celestial Record from her bag. Mikleo is surprised to see she has it, and intact, too.

“I never returned this to you,” she says, though she doesn’t pass it to him. Instead she lets her hand trace the cover, fiddling with the worn bookmarks sticking out of the top. “But I’m gonna be selfish and ask a favour. Can I pass this on to Tristan?”

Mikleo hums. A part of him wants to refuse, clinging onto the memories held within it and the confession at its end. The part which still aches at the sight of the book is happy to see it go. “I thought you hated that book. To hear you’d actually want someone else to read it is kind of surprising.”

“Aw come on, I got through it eventually!” She elbows him for good measure, and he tries not to focus on how much less force is behind the action than there used to be. “I think this book should live on with the Shepherds. A Shepherd wrote it, and it’s what brought Sorey into being a Shepherd. And I don’t want to admit it, but it’s helped me out a lot, too. I think it’d probably benefit Tristan, and all the Shepherds who come after him.”

Reluctantly, he accepts. “Makes sense. I think Sorey would like that, too.”

“Good!”

She stows the book away, then pulls out a letter. The envelope is already crumpled from age. She passes it to him. On the front, written in a familiar scrawl, is the word, ‘Sorey’.

“You wrote him a letter?” Mikleo says, turning the envelope over in his hands. “That’s not your style.”

Rose laughs. “I know, I know. But I had a lot I wanted to say to him, and he didn’t exactly give me a chance to say it. Pass it on to him for me, will you?”

He tucks the letter away, feeling his heart sink a little with the connotations of it. “Of course.”

“Thanks, kid.”

“You don’t get to call me kid,” Mikleo complains, frowning at her. “We’re the same age.”

“Maybe, but you don’t look anywhere near my age, so I can call you that all I like!”

When she sticks her tongue out at him before bursting into vibrant laughter, he can almost fool himself that they are still both kids, enjoying life together whilst they can.

 

* * *

 

Her funeral is a quiet affair.

The gravestone stands atop a wind-brushed hilltop.

All Mikleo can think of is how this is only the first friend he’ll outlive.

He stays for a long while, then heads off with the other seraphim, no destination in mind.

 

* * *

 

(Alisha gives Mikleo a letter for Sorey too, before she passes away. It’s far more well-maintained than Rose’s, kept in pristine condition, and he knows Rose must have made the suggestion to her before Alisha died.

She leaves behind a pair of loving children, the loyalty of the citizens of Hyland and Rolance, and a legacy which Mikleo knows will last for centuries to come.)

 

* * *

 

After Rose and Alisha die, Mikleo travels alone for a while.

He’s not sure what else to do. Without anything tying him to any place, there’s a whole world waiting for him to explore it. Now is the time when he’ll get to discover everything he and Sorey ever dreamt of seeing. Each place he visits, he notes into his journals, diaries of his travels which span their whole lives. By the time Sorey returns, he swears to himself he’ll have filled at least five volumes.

(Incidentally, he’s already filled two - one with his journeys with Sorey, and the other dedicated to Rose’s time as Shepherd. He wishes she and Alisha were still here to read them.)

The thing with travelling alone, though, is that he has no one to share his discoveries with. He quickly realises, halfway into a shrine to Eumacia in the depths of Westronbolt Gorge, that there’s something inherently uninspiring about exploring a ruin alone.

That doesn’t stop him from venturing through the whole ruin, of course, as well as a couple more. It’s an opportunity to adjust to his surroundings, to think more carefully about how no one is here to hear his theories. Rather than speaking, he learns to put those thoughts into writing, creating discovery logs and making a mental note to talk to Sorey about all of this when he awakens.

(His conscience helpfully reminds him that these ruins may not be standing by the time Sorey awakens. He forces himself to ignore it.)

Eventually, though, he becomes tired. The discoveries he finds don’t enthuse him as much as they once did, and he abandons his adventure halfway through. It is with a heavy heart, of course, but he feels hopeless. How is he supposed to live when the things he enjoys don’t feel worthwhile anymore?

On the way back from a ruin, he bumps into a group of travellers in a caravan, and on a whim, he hops into the carriage.

They’re merchants, not related to the Sparrowfeathers but somewhat reminiscent of them. They fill their journey with lively banter, keeping the atmosphere joyful despite their uneventful surroundings. None of them have enough resonance to see or hear Mikleo, though one of them swears a couple of times that she feels a presence nearby.

The merchants are surprisingly devout, though, and Mikleo feels warm in their company.

(He wonders, fleetingly, if this is why Dezel joined the Windriders. Even before his friend’s death, Dezel must have enjoyed the company of these humans who may not have seen him, but who believed in him all the same. It’s a comforting thought, really. To know he’s being appreciated.)

Part of him regrets leaving, once they reach the merchant town where Rose once lived. But they’re planning on returning into Rolance, and Mikleo wants to go back to Hyland for a little while. Maybe now, he thinks, would be a good time to visit home.

(Probably, he thinks, the cause of this feeling is homesickness. He’s not sure if it’s for Elysia or for something else, though.)

 

* * *

 

Mikleo doesn’t plan on bumping into Edna.

To be fair, he had no idea she’d be in Marlind when he got there. When he sees her, though, he feels a sense of familiarity, one which is combined with a childish feeling of dread which remains from their adolescent arguments.

“Edna,” he greets her once he reaches her perch in the roots of the Great Tree. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugs, twirling her umbrella. For the most part, she looks the same as ever; she still wears the same dress, boots and glove, and her umbrella still holds the normin mascot, which is now just a plushie (or at least, so Mikleo hopes). The only difference is that her hair has grown longer, now reaching below her shoulders, where one of the straps of her dress has a knack for falling down.

“What, can a lady not visit town every once in a while?” she says, arching her brow. “Perhaps I should be asking what a lonely Meebo is doing here.”

He groans. He’d at least hoped she might have dropped the nickname by now. “Just passing through. I’m heading back to Elysia.”

She hums, appraising him. “Your hair’s gotten longer.”

Reaching for the back of his neck, he finds that she’s right. The strands now reach closer to his chin, not unruly but less controlled than he usually lets it get. “Well, so has yours,” he counters.

“My hairdresser decided to wander off on his own. It’s only natural that it would get out of control with such negligence.”

“You could have cut it yourself, you know.”

This time she doesn’t respond, instead hopping down onto solid ground. “The least you could do in return is offer to buy me lunch, you know.”

Mikleo rolls his eyes, but relents. “Fine, whatever.”

They head to a nearby bakery, one of Edna’s choosing, and grab a couple of pastries each. They have to leave their gald on the counter and take their pastries straight from behind the counter, since the bakers don’t have resonance. They’ve both gotten sued to this kind of thing, though. Heading over to the museum, they sit down on a nearby bench, watching as the humans go about their daily lives.

“What brings you so close to the humans, anyway?” Mikleo asks. “I thought you hated them.”

“I did,” Edna says, holding a palmier in her bare hand. “But I can deal with them, now. Besides, I wanted some pastries.”

Humming, Mikleo takes a bite into his Madeleine. The sweet flavour wraps around his tongue. It’s been a long time since he bothered to stop and make something sweet to eat.

“Edna,” he says. “What did you do when Eizen left? Before he became a dragon, I mean.”

For a long moment, Edna stays silent. He thinks she’ll probably leave, or make him drop the question. After all, she’s never been keen on that topic.

In the end, she answers.

“I waited,” she says. “I stayed on Rayfalke and tried to stay busy while hoping he’d come back.”

“You didn’t leave at all?” he asks. “What did you do there all day?”

“I have hobbies,” she says. “I practised fighting, I wrote letters, I cooked. Sometimes I’d scare earth-dwellers away if they started coming up the mountain.”

Part of Mikleo can’t help but ache, knowing that he could be doing the same thing as her right now, biding his time without any action.

Perhaps Edna notices his mood, and she pokes him with her umbrella. It’s gentler than usual, which takes him more by surprise than her poking him at all.

“You shouldn’t do what I did,” she says. “It’s a pretty dumb thing to do. Plus Sorey wouldn’t want you to just wait around for him to come back.”

He turns to her, a rush of gratitude filling her. It’s kind of weird, but he smiles regardless. “Yeah, I know. Thanks, Edna.”

She turns away, eating the last of her pastry. “It’s nothing.”

When she stands up to leave a few minutes later, she puts her umbrella up, not facing him as she speaks. “You can grow your hair out, by the way. He’ll recognise you.”

Edna leaves before he can say anything in response.

 

* * *

 

In a darkened room, the only sound is the scratch of pen against paper, smooth lines of ink creating word after word, filling pages in no time. The candlelight flickers, its glow barely reaching the desk, but it’s enough. Mikleo’s eyes have gotten used to the dark.

The curtains flutter by the window, the outside world visible but darker still than the room he’s in. A breeze brushes his face, making his light falter for a moment.

Mikleo looks up, his eyes meeting the window.

‘Oh,’ he thinks, ‘it’s already night.’

His hand hovers over the paper, pen poised and ready to continue. But now he’s distracted, and he can feel the weight of his eyes dropping closed. When was the last time he slept? He can’t recall. Maybe it was before he returned to Elysia… How long ago was that? What date is it?

Mikleo never intended for time to pass him by. Especially not knowing that that’s exactly what’s happening to Sorey; that only makes him more conscious, to know that Sorey would be disappointed to see him like this. But Mikleo can’t help it. Once he got home and sat down to work, he became so focused that time got the better of him. Without the biological needs of a human to take into account, he can continue working for as long as he likes.

Doing so isn’t living, of course. That’s what aggravates Mikleo the most, knowing that doing this means he’s not living his life, the way he promised he would.

He lays down his pen, forcing himself to stretch tired arms over his head. His muscles feel weak from lack of use, and he berates himself for not thinking to get up and stretch at all. Still, it’s late now, and he’s too tired to exercise at this time. He heads through into the bedroom, shucking off his clothes and burrowing under the covers of the bed, trying to ignore the scent of dust tickling his nostrils. Sorey’s scent has long since disappeared from the house, but the memory of it calms his mind.

For the first time in centuries, he falls asleep without trouble, entering a dreamless void moments after his head hits the pillow.

 

* * *

 

Time passes him by even more quickly when he’s on the move.

Mikleo spends the next few centuries travelling the continent, researching and exploring unknown ruins, recording all of his discoveries for future reference. He comes across a few seraphim as he travels, who help him learn more and refine his artes. Occasionally, he finds one of his old companions, who he stays with for a while, catching up on the time they’ve been apart.

It’s only when Mikleo hair reaches his forearms and his writing fills four volumes that he speaks to a human.

He’s in a forest near a human village, gathering herbs and other supplies for his travels. Though he rarely needs healing items anymore, he can’t help his own need to be prepared for any situation, no matter what. Besides, the herbs will taste great in food if he doesn’t use them for medicinal purposes.

The young girl finds him near the edge of the forest. Her age is far younger than Mikleo can imagine being anymore, and she beams at him without understanding his surprise.

“Hi!” she says. “What’s your name?”

“You can see me?” he asks without thinking.

Her nodding is filled with enthusiasm, and his heart clenches, the faded memory of Sorey’s grin returning to his mind. “Of course I can, silly! Why wouldn’t I be able to see you?”

For a long moment, he stays silent in awe.

He spent eighteen years of his life with Sorey, dreaming of a day when humans might be able to see him and not remember a time when that wasn’t possible. Now, he’s seeing that reality come to light in front of him.

This girl and her words make his heart lift.

Without restraining his smile, he says, “My name is Mikleo. I’m a seraph.”

Her eyes light up, bright azure filled with the same awe he feels. “Really? My friends are gonna be so jealous when they hear I met a seraph!”

Looking at this girl, for the first time, Mikleo doesn’t think about human mortality.

He looks at her and he sees the future. He sees his and Sorey’s dream living on, and he feels at home.

 

* * *

 

The next time he sees Lailah is when they visit Camlann together.

She’s able to travel a lot more now, even though she’s still working as the Lord of the Land. Since so much more of the land has been purified, Ladylake doesn’t need the constant blessing of a seraph. It gives her a chance to stretch her legs and see more of the world, which Mikleo is glad for. Ten years had seemed like a long enough time back when she’d first been waiting for a Shepherd to appear.

When she sees him, she spends a good few minutes hugging him, and even longer enthusing about his newly grown-out hair, which he’s now taken to setting in a high ponytail, not unlike hers except far wavier by nature. After she calms down, they greet the Elysians. Their village has grown into a larger town now, with a few humans in their midst, and it’s comforting to see how warmly the humans welcome another seraph as a visitor.

They stop by Gramps’ grave on their way to Camlann. It doesn’t look at all weathered by age, something which Mikleo can only guess is down to seraphic artes. His pipe remains on the grave, cleaned regularly by the seraphim to keep it from harm. After all, this is one of the only things they have left of him.

By this point, Mikleo has long since accepted Gramps’ death. It was something he and Sorey had to do, and though it pains him to think about it, he knows Gramps was proud of them. If Gramps is somewhere seeing the way the world has grown since then, he knows he’d be proud of them for that, too.

Camlann is only a walk away from there, and they spend most of that time catching up on their time apart. Lailah talks of her days in Ladylake, people-watching and listening to prayers. She tells him of the people with resonance, a growing population who often come to greet her, thanking her for her hard work. She tells him of a girl with blond hair and green eyes who reminded her of Alisha, reading a book on the steps of the sanctuary. She tells him about the current Shepherd, who is practically a part-timer compared to Sorey and Rose, but who still serves a vital purpose in this world.

She tells him about the days she spends gazing at the sky, smiling fondly on the memories of their past.

They head into the village, gazing down upon the crater where Sorey rests. His light is as bright as ever, burning gently through the sky, filling it with purity. Flowers have since grown around his resting place, surely aided by the artes of certain earth seraphim. Camlann has become a beautiful place; Mikleo can only hope that once Sorey awakens, they can rebuild the Origin town of peace that Michael wanted to create in the first place.

He tells Lailah this, and her eyes glimmer with emotion.

“I’m sure he’d have wanted that,” she says.

“Wasn’t it hard?” he asks after a moment, as they sit at the edge of the crater. “When Michael left?”

“It was,” Lailah says, holding a hand over her heart. “But I didn’t want him to feel burdened. He was the Shepherd from such a young age, I wanted him to live a normal life, too.”

Her face forms a smile, though, and she looks over to him with eyes filled with hope.

“But Sorey brought peace back into the world,” she says. “Now, we are living in the world which Michael envisioned, and which you have brought into reality. I can’t find it in myself to regret any of that.”

Mikleo looks down. “You’re really strong, Lailah.”

Shaking her head, she says, “Don’t discount your own efforts, though. You’ve been incredibly strong, Mikleo. I’m sure it will pay off soon.”

He can’t find the words to express his gratitude to her, so in the end, he simply turns back to Sorey’s light.

“I hope you’re right.”

 

* * *

 

It feels better than he expects it to.

Though it’s not a rush of euphoria or an overwhelming excitement, it’s still a breathless kind of joy, a blossoming warmth in his chest, a hope which feels like home.

When he feels Sorey’s hand grasp his, pulling him out of the darkness, he can’t help but grasp on tight, a new resolve forming in his heart.

Sorey pulls him close, and he can feel his skin thrumming with newfound power, an energy Mikleo has lived with for so long that it’s strange to feel coursing through another person. His hair tickles Mikleo’s face as they hug, neither wanting to let the other go.

Mikleo can’t even remember how long it’s been, anymore. They’ve both changed, but the time that has passed doesn’t seem to matter in this moment, as they connect once more. Two halves of a whole, they murmur shared words of affection with teary eyes.

They brush noses, pouring laughter into each other’s lips, relief and comfort and the feeling of coming home emanating through them.

Sorey is back, and they’ve got all the time in the world to make the most of it.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: Tristan's name comes from the name of one of the knights of the Round Table in Arthurian legend. I only realised when researching him for fun that his name forms part of the name of Trizolde Cave in Zestiria. The other part comes from Isolde, who Tristan was in love with, whose name can also be spelt as Yseult, which is a place in Berseria. Don't ask me why but I find this kind of trivia fascinating.
> 
> Follow me [@luzrofrulay](http://twitter.com/luzrofrulay) on twitter / [@luzrof-rulay](http://luzrof-rulay.tumblr.com) on tumblr for more Tales Of ramblings | [@randomactuallywrites-57](http://randomactuallywrites-57.tumblr.com) on tumblr for more writing!


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